| Song | Social Wedding Rings |
| Artist | Mount Moriah |
| Album | Mount Moriah |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作曲 : McEntire, Mount Moriah | |
| In a motel room in | |
| Colorado Springs, | |
| We learned what impatience brings | |
| To women who fool around. | |
| That summer was a strung-out mess, | |
| And you swore to | |
| God you had the perfect fix, | |
| And a plan to get us out. | |
| You said, "Don't you turn around.Leave your strings at the door,And just walk out." | |
| I sat in the living room | |
| And watched your girlfriend pack her things | |
| To move away from you. | |
| Our record: | |
| Buffy Sainte- | |
| Marie,And we held hands and cried' | |
| Til we couldn't see anything. | |
| You said, "Don't you turn around.You wouldn't like what you found here anyhow." | |
| So I took a red-eye from the | |
| Bay,Watched you watch the taxi pull away | |
| From Mission | |
| Street.The next time we would meet | |
| Would be a train wreck of nerves and sexless sleep. | |
| Mistakes made, empty hymns. | |
| I said, "Don't you make a sound.Nothing's careful in desire,Especially now." | |
| There were no accidents; | |
| We asked for this. | |
| But the South is not out | |
| West.There's nothing gentle about | |
| Our stomachs full of gin. | |
| We are alive, and we have no regrets. | |
| In a farmhouse in the | |
| Piedmont Hills, | |
| We learned what impatience wills | |
| To women who fool around. | |
| If thievery has a voice to to sing | |
| It's the choice and sound of moving hands | |
| Over social wedding rings. | |
| I said, "Don't you turn around.Leave your strings at the door,And just walk out." |
| zuo qu : McEntire, Mount Moriah | |
| In a motel room in | |
| Colorado Springs, | |
| We learned what impatience brings | |
| To women who fool around. | |
| That summer was a strungout mess, | |
| And you swore to | |
| God you had the perfect fix, | |
| And a plan to get us out. | |
| You said, " Don' t you turn around. Leave your strings at the door, And just walk out." | |
| I sat in the living room | |
| And watched your girlfriend pack her things | |
| To move away from you. | |
| Our record: | |
| Buffy Sainte | |
| Marie, And we held hands and cried' | |
| Til we couldn' t see anything. | |
| You said, " Don' t you turn around. You wouldn' t like what you found here anyhow." | |
| So I took a redeye from the | |
| Bay, Watched you watch the taxi pull away | |
| From Mission | |
| Street. The next time we would meet | |
| Would be a train wreck of nerves and sexless sleep. | |
| Mistakes made, empty hymns. | |
| I said, " Don' t you make a sound. Nothing' s careful in desire, Especially now." | |
| There were no accidents | |
| We asked for this. | |
| But the South is not out | |
| West. There' s nothing gentle about | |
| Our stomachs full of gin. | |
| We are alive, and we have no regrets. | |
| In a farmhouse in the | |
| Piedmont Hills, | |
| We learned what impatience wills | |
| To women who fool around. | |
| If thievery has a voice to to sing | |
| It' s the choice and sound of moving hands | |
| Over social wedding rings. | |
| I said, " Don' t you turn around. Leave your strings at the door, And just walk out." |
| zuò qǔ : McEntire, Mount Moriah | |
| In a motel room in | |
| Colorado Springs, | |
| We learned what impatience brings | |
| To women who fool around. | |
| That summer was a strungout mess, | |
| And you swore to | |
| God you had the perfect fix, | |
| And a plan to get us out. | |
| You said, " Don' t you turn around. Leave your strings at the door, And just walk out." | |
| I sat in the living room | |
| And watched your girlfriend pack her things | |
| To move away from you. | |
| Our record: | |
| Buffy Sainte | |
| Marie, And we held hands and cried' | |
| Til we couldn' t see anything. | |
| You said, " Don' t you turn around. You wouldn' t like what you found here anyhow." | |
| So I took a redeye from the | |
| Bay, Watched you watch the taxi pull away | |
| From Mission | |
| Street. The next time we would meet | |
| Would be a train wreck of nerves and sexless sleep. | |
| Mistakes made, empty hymns. | |
| I said, " Don' t you make a sound. Nothing' s careful in desire, Especially now." | |
| There were no accidents | |
| We asked for this. | |
| But the South is not out | |
| West. There' s nothing gentle about | |
| Our stomachs full of gin. | |
| We are alive, and we have no regrets. | |
| In a farmhouse in the | |
| Piedmont Hills, | |
| We learned what impatience wills | |
| To women who fool around. | |
| If thievery has a voice to to sing | |
| It' s the choice and sound of moving hands | |
| Over social wedding rings. | |
| I said, " Don' t you turn around. Leave your strings at the door, And just walk out." |